


Eat Me

by worldturtling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Feeding, Fluff, M/M, Marking, Sharing Clothes, intimate feeding, past relationships talk (benny/andrea)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldturtling/pseuds/worldturtling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants Benny to feed from him, without necessity and seemingly without reason. Benny thinks about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Me

Dean opens his eyes fully aware of the stare fixed on him. Benny watches him, half sitting on the foot of the bed. Dean spreads fingers over the bed sheets in invitation.

“Something on your mind?” he asks in the quiet. His eyes flutter close briefly at the sensation of a cold hand slides over his open palm, and he threads his fingers through Benny’s. He may be the only one wearing a shirt here but Dean is still burning hot against his skin.

He can hear lips part hesitantly even without super hearing, and maybe it’s just that the room is that quiet, or maybe it’s so small that all noises seem big.

“I’ve been thinking ‘bout what you wanted, Dean.” His voice is smoky and rough in the dark, his thumb brushes over the pulse point of Dean’s wrist.

“And?” Dean swallows down his anticipation an breathes out steadily.

“I just fed on three bags. If you still wanted I think I”

Dean is climbing on his lap before he can finish the sentence, bare thighs against the fabric of his prickly black pants. He holds Benny’s face between his palms and settles his ass down. Benny is still looking at him with reservation in his eyes, and Dean wants to kiss it away.

“Dean…” Benny cracks, is pleading but he doesn’t specify for what. Dean kisses him.

“I trust you,” he says into his mouth, drawing his tongue out to taste his own. “I trust you Benny,” he murmurs, and Benny’s hands are holding his hips tighter now. Not tight enough to bruise, but holding Dean as if he might pull him closer or toss him away. Dean’s hands roam from his shoulders, to his head, moving behind Benny’s head and nudging him gently.

Benny follows with his movement, kisses and nips at his jaw line, to a sensitive spot under his ear. His arms circle around Dean, pulling him closer. Dean’s bare torso is pressed against Benny’s shirt and his soft cock is beginning to show some interest being pressed against Benny’s crotch.

He presses Benny’s head down as his mouth grazes over a particular spot on his neck.

“No time foreplay, huh?” Benny mumbles against his skin, trying to come off as as light hearted but Dean hears his uneasiness.

Teeth sink into his skin, Dean can feel how carefully it happens. It’s slow and shallow, a sharp prolonged pain. Dean wills himself still, curls his fingers into Benny’s short hair to distract himself. Benny withdraws the teeth almost immediately, leaving open bleeding holes in Dean’s skin. His tongue follows. It’s cool and flat against his neck and shoulder. He holds Dean close in his lap, tighter when his breath quickens, and looser when he feels calmer, when he doesn’t think about Dad’s disapproval.

Benny had never bit him before, not even in purgatory. Dean wishes it had been a lot sooner. Benny’s mouth draws his life blood from him, and Dean doesn’t feel himself bleeding out or anything, but he’s developing a sudden nagging need to bandage himself up. He feels the patch of punctured skin wet and cold and dripping. Benny is making slow work of it but Dean knows it won’t scar.

“We should try this during sex.” Dean smiles faintly, and he feels Benny’s smile against his neck.

You’ve taken a predator into bed, he thinks to himself, and he’s smiling into the part of your neck you let him drink blood from.

Except even naked and on his lap, exposed like this, he feels safe, doesn’t feel exposed. He shifts after a few minutes had passed, and Benny draws back. His mouth and beard are stained red with Dean’s blood, and his eyes are shut closed.

Dean leans in before he gets pushed away and tastes the blood on his lips.

“I’ve had my own blood in my mouth plenty of times,” he smirks at Benny’s confused look, then leans in and presses their mouths together until Benny applies pressure back.

“Need to get you cleaned up,” he says with a harsh exhale, as if he was the one that needed to breathe. He leaves Dean on the bed with half a hard on. He returns from the bathroom with the small first aid kit. Dean’s blood is still on his beard and it makes him smile, even through the alcohol and gauze process under Benny’s careful hands.

He sighs when Benny applies the last piece of tape.

“No we are not doing that during sex,” Benny says finally, and Dean feels like the next kiss is to prevent an argument. It’s a really good kiss.

Benny’s hand finds its way to between Dean’s legs, and Dean breaks the kiss off with a moan.

“I can think of better things to do with my mouth,” he speaks in a fucking sex voice into Dean’s shoulder. And to prove a point, Benny’s mouth latches onto the side of his neck opposite his bite on Dean’s skin. His blunt teeth press lightly against the skin, and his hand squeezes the base of Dean’s cock. He’s giving him a hickey. Dean comes wet and warm over his stomach and over Benny’s hand, and Benny works him through hit, holds him shuddering in his arms, mouth not moving from Dean’s body.

When Dean wakes up to Benny cooking eggs the next morning, he wakes up with an urgent need to use the bathroom. After flushing the toilet, he rubs the rest of sleep out of his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror. Purple on one side of his neck, blooming with the outer edges pink and red. Small purple marks on his right arm, his two on his chest and torso, one on his hip. He reaches for the bulky white gauze on his neck, and carefully removes the tape and peels it back.

Dean feels light and giddy at the sight of the bite mark still there. They dot the skin of his neck like large birthmarks or freckles.

He walks into the kitchen with boxers, and sides up next to Benny. He kisses him, taking the pan out of his hands while he’s distracted. He insinuates himself between Benny and the stove, and Benny wraps an arm around his waist.

“Good mornin’,” his blunt teeth nip at Dean’s ear, and a shudder runs down his back.

“Morning,” Dean croaks, his voice still asleep. “You should get the salt,” he gets the spatula and flips the eggs next to the sausage.

Benny retreates a step away, then returns immediately, placing the salt on the counter. His hand takies the spatula from Dean and plays with the sausage. He drops a kiss down to Dean’s right shoulder.

“You have to kiss the other one too.” He feels Benny pause, and then carefully, so carefully, Benny’s head comes around and chastely presses against the bites.

“I don’t regret it you know.”

“I know you don’t,” Benny says, easy, no tension in his voice.

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Did you and Andrea…”

“No, we …she never asked me to do that.” They make Dean’s plate, and then Dean puts a blood bag in a coffee cup for Benny. Benny looks like he finds the sight incredibly funny, but he keeps the smile just barely off his mouth when he looks down at it while taking the cup from Dean.

“I like it.” Dean says around the food in his mouth. He says it casually, or tries to, and casts a brief glance at Benny, who looks hesitant.

“So do I.” Benny look up at him, but he’s frowning.

“If it makes you uncomfortable…”

“I just don’t want to hurt you, Dean.” Dean can’t help himself when he rolls his eyes, and he feels bad about it.

“Benny, I know that, and you won’t.” He reaches over for Benny’s hand, folded in the handle of the coffee mug. He brushes his fingers over the thick knuckles, “lets go out today, yeah? I think the farmers market is going on. Maybe you can teach me another one of your complicated family recipes again. And I can show you more of my awesome music.” Benny winces, discomfort of his features erasing at the memory of his distaste for Dean’s classic rock.

Dean had done him the courtesy of buying earphones for himself, setting the player on its lowest volume, and Benny still looked pained when passing the room Dean was listening to music in.

Dean pulls on a white cable knit sweater Benny has in one of his drawers for some reason, and it’s a size too big for him but it’s warm enough for this weather. He doesn’t want to wear his own clothes and risk getting recognized.

Benny comes out of a coat closet with a long red thing, and it takes Dean a minute to recognize it as a scarf.

“Sorry I don’t have another color,” he says apologetically, wrapping it around Dean’s neck with little other explanation. He realizes it’s not so much concern for cold as covering up the evidence of their transgression into interspecies fluid exchanges of a nonsexual nature. Dean holds the end of the bright red scarf and sees the white of his sweater sleeve.

“I look like a candy cane,” he frowns. Benny chuckles, and presses his mouth against his hairline, then an open kiss to the part of the scarf wrapped right over the bite. His breath hitches and oh, he likes that.

Benny could kiss him there in public, and it’d elicit the same reaction. Heat rushes to his face at the idea.

“Something on your mind?” Benny asks with a smile, hands lingering around the edges of the scarf, face lingering inches from his own. Dean reaches up and folds their hands together.

“Yeah, just thinking about mailing a picture of that bite to my brother.” He wears a matching smile, leaning his face closer.

“I’m not kissing you to that,” Benny bluffs. Dean lets him have that though.

“Kiss me because you have better uses for your mouth, then.” He parrots Benny’s earlier words. It works.


End file.
